


Liminal

by rei_c



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Creation Myth, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, I'm Sorry, Implied Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lucifer in the Bunker, Lucifer's Cage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam just wants to feel safe again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liminal

"I remember that, you know." 

Sam flinches, nearly falls off the chair. His heart races; he breaks out into a cold sweat. He forces himself to sit still, to not react, but Lucifer's smiling when he moves from behind Sam's shoulder and sits down on the other side of the table. 

Smiling. It wasn't bad enough that Lucifer's here, in his _home_ , has ruined this place for Sam, has ruined the safety of his bedroom and his kitchen and his library. It's not enough that Lucifer's ruined _him_. Now Lucifer has to take this away, Sam's study, the one place in the Bunker that no one else ever comes to because no one else knows it exists. 

"Remember what?" Sam says, snaps. He leans back in his chair, pushes it away from the table a few feet in case he needs to make a quick get-away. 

Lucifer's smile fades. "Creation," he says, and takes his eyes off of Sam, looks, instead, at the ceiling. "The letters. The way your _sefer_ says it: God drew them, mixed them, gave them weight and breath, and through them produced the whole of creation and everything that will ever come into being." 

Sam wants to run. He wants to leave, he wants to get away from Lucifer, he wants the safe and reassuring presence of the Impala because that car is the only stable thing in Sam's fucking life right now and isn't _that_ just a kick in the face. Instead, he asks, "How did you exist before the letters, if that was the moment of creation?" 

His voice barely shakes. His hands do, a little. He puts them on his lap and reminds himself he has an angel blade tucked into his jeans. He always has an angel blade within reach. 

"The numbers came first," Lucifer says. "They held the potential and the letters gave them form. In that space between, that moment, that's when God made the angels."

"Liminal space," Sam says. "That's emptiness, though."

Lucifer gives Sam a wry smile. "It explains so much about how heartless us angels are, knowing that we were born from nothing. I hurt you, Sam." Sam frowns, confused at the change in subject, tense as Lucifer stands up. "I once told you that I would never lie to you, never trick you, and I haven't. But I have hurt you. The things I did to you and your brother in the Cage were -- are unforgivable. When you came to ask for my help against the Darkness, the things I said were cruel. It is a part of creation, I think," Lucifer adds, quietly, "that we are so very good at hurting those we love the best."

"What are you saying?" Sam asks. "You want my -- I will never feel -- no. Just -- no." 

"Would you put me back in the Cage if you were given the option?" Lucifer asks. 

Sam opens his mouth to answer, of course he would, that's an asinine question, that's the only way Sam would ever feel remotely safe again -- but then he stops. The Cage. Lucifer and Michael, they didn't leave him or Adam alone that often, but it did happen and when they did, it was -- empty. Nothing. A breath held between life and death over and over and over again. The verge of destruction and the pain of it with no relief, the moment when you can see agony coming but can do nothing to stop it, the terror of unrelenting anticipation. 

It was cold. It was so very, very cold. He died a million times over at Lucifer's hands, a million more at Michael's, but he only begged for death when he was alone.

"Maybe," he says, even though they both know he means 'no.' Sam wishes he could say yes. He wishes he could say 'maybe' and mean it. 

Lucifer holds his gaze, finally nods, once. "Forgiveness is not something I can earn -- is not something I deserve -- but I can at least do penance."

Sam shakes his head. All of a sudden, he's tired -- that's it, that's all, that's enough. He's just _tired_. He needs coffee, he needs food, he needs sunlight, he needs things to make sense, he needs about sixteen fucking days of sleep. "Just leave me alone," he says. 

After a moment, Lucifer nods again. He leaves as quietly as he'd come in. Sam gets up, shuts and locks the door, sits back down. He closes the book, pushes it away, and breathes while his heart stops racing, while his fight-or-flight instinct calms down and the adrenaline flushes its way through his system. He wipes his hands on his jeans and then wraps his arms around himself, trying to forestall the shivers he can feel building up along his spine. 

Once he's -- once he's calmed down, he'll need to find a different room. He just needs a few minutes to catch his breath first and then he'll go deeper into the unexplored regions of the Bunker, see if he can't find another room to use as a study, maybe something big enough for a cot or at least a pile of blankets in the corner for when he can't -- for when he doesn't want to make the trek back to the main living quarters. 

He just needs a few minutes, to make sure he's -- just a few minutes.


End file.
